


If You Believed What You Felt You'd Be In Love

by fueledbypeterick



Category: Fall Out Boy, Pete Wentz - Fandom, patrick stump - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Peterick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 05:26:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2639774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fueledbypeterick/pseuds/fueledbypeterick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The message was short, to the point, and something he had not been expecting at all.</p><p> “it’s over”</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Believed What You Felt You'd Be In Love

There was a sound of his phone vibrating against the nightstand as Patrick Stump looked at the clock, its LED lights telling him it was two o’clock in the morning. His eyelids fluttered quickly, his eyes trying to focus on the ceiling. His fingers slid over the keys, exiting out of whatever text message was on the screen and he stumbled through his phone to find it again. The message was short, to the point, and something he had not been expecting at all.

 

“it’s over”

 

 

Patrick’s eyes lingered over the two words for a couple of minutes, his mind trying to fully comprehend what was meant. He debated the correct response, but he knew at least for who he was talking to, there wasn’t a comforting word at the moment for Pete Wentz. This was his divorce. Sure, Patrick had been there for other breakups, but this was a divorce. The pale fingers lingered over the send button for a moment before he connected to the call. Getting through this was going to take quite a bit of mental endurance for him and a ton of patience. The phone rang for what seemed like an eternity before he heard the sound of his best friend’s voice.

 

“I was going to respond to your text but” Patrick rambled, “I would rather just talk to you, I mean texting is talking, but you know what I mean.”

 

“It’s okay. Can I stay with you?”

 

“Of course. You still have a key, unless you lost it….”

 

“I lost it.”

 

“I will leave you one under the mat,” Patrick reassured him, “I’ll see you when you get here.”

 

He starred as the screen on his phone flashed the time taken for the call, and the contact ID displayed a picture of Pete, smiling, not the fake flashy, toothy grin that everyone else got, but a tiny smirk, the one he got when Pete would catch Patrick staring at him. The smile, that made him five inches tall, made him feel he was the only person in the room. There was no time for that though, he had to be there for his best friend, his best friend that is going through one of the most trying times of his life. His feet touched the wood floor, trying to find some sort of balance, his hands fumbled for the keys, taking the one to the house off his keyring. He began to pace around the house, picking up the clothes in his room, cleaning the dishes in his sink. Pete had been there when it was a total mess, but it didn’t matter, Patrick felt everything should be as perfect as possible around him for when he felt the worst. He started to feel even more nervous, his hands sweaty, his head throbbing from the thoughts that ran back and forth in his mind.

 

There was a small noise of the door opening, a key landing on the coffee table, when Patrick opened his eyes next. He had fallen asleep in a chair in the kitchen, he could fall asleep anywhere. He got up, following Pete behind him as he walked into the bedroom, expecting to a sleeping Patrick.

 

“Hey,” Patrick said quietly, wiping his eyelids, yawning loudly.

 

Pete turned around, dark circles under his eyes, well, darker than what the singer was accustomed to. The brown eyes met Patrick’s and started to glisten. Patrick walked up to him, his arms wrapping around Pete’s stomach. He felt it in the pit of his stomach, like someone was beating him up, seeing his best friend have to go through this. Even if Patrick had something to say, this was not the time to say it. Ashlee. God, his blood pressure started to rise thinking about what she had done, what pain she was causing to Pete. Patrick wanted to take all of the pain away, every self-damaging and negative thought that was going through the bassist’s head. The two sat on the bed, Pete’s head still in his chest and Patrick’s arms draped over his shoulders. The clock read four thirty, and Patrick let out a soft sigh. Honestly, there was no way to tell how long it had been since Pete had slept.

 

“I fucked up. Fuck,” Pete finally let out, “I’m not good enough. That’s what it is.”

 

“It’s not,” he responded immediately, “you are the best.”

 

Pete shook his head, his hand digging into his pocket, pulling out and looking at his phone with earnest. He was checking to see if he had a text message, a missed call, anything from her. Patrick rolled his eyes from behind him and grabbed a part of the comforter. Pete slammed the phone down, his head returning to the spot he had claimed for the past half hour, drowning the fabric of Patrick’s white t-shirt once again. Patrick fought himself from beginning a rant that was going to fall on deaf ears, explaining how Pete was better than what any person deserved. His hand touched Pete’s back, softly resting against the striped v-neck, making a small circular motion. 

 

Patrick continued the motion, until he felt a slight twitch underneath him and Pete’s chest rising and falling slowly. Light began to fill the top of the room, and Patrick shook his best friend’s shoulder lightly.

 

“You need to wake up,” Patrick said softly, “the guest bedroom is made up for you.” He began to get up, and a hand grabbed his leg.

 

“Please, let me sleep in here with you,” Pete pleaded, “I can’t be alone tonight.”

 

“Uh….okay,” Patrick replied, not wanting or knowing how to say no to the request. Pete rolled back the covers, and Patrick unmade the tucked in corners at the foot of the bed. He knew Pete hated feeling like he was trapped while he slept, plus the guy couldn’t keep still, always twisting and turning while he was off dreaming. Pete remained in his clothes, and Patrick was already in his typical bed attire, a white t-shirt and plaid boxers. A yawn escaped his lips as he slipped underneath the covers, trying to give as much space and part of the blanket as he could to Pete. His eyes traveled across the bed, watching his best friend attempt to sleep. He noticed he sort of smiled in his sleep, his mouth curving up slightly, and Patrick wondered what he dreamed about.

 

He started to close his eyes, not from being sleepiness, but from watching memories of the two. Inside jokes filled his mind, and he chuckled to himself. He thought of Pete, looking at him on stage, his whole body becoming warm and he smiled. That’s when he felt it, a hand touched his arm, pulling him to the other side of the bed. His heartbeat became off the charts as Pete laid his head on Patrick’s chest. Frozen, Patrick laid there, staring at the ceiling as one of Pete’s hand clung to Patrick’s shoulder, and the other was behind his head. He continued to stare at the ceiling, until he heard Pete’s breath begin to slow. God, he felt creepy, the way he locked his gaze on his best friend, but he couldn’t look away. His hand traveled on Pete’s back, and took a moment to run this hand through his hair, as he slowly drifted off.

 

There was a soft rustle of the sheets as Patrick felt Pete steal the remainder of the sheets, the comforter sliding off his thighs, causing the cold to fully encompass the singer’s body. His mouth curved upward as his eyes opened, looking at his best friend, and the urge to run his fingers through the bassist’s hair wouldn’t leave him. His hands hovered over the dark hair, his heartbeat rising, as he discovered the courage to explore Pete’s mess of a hair, which always appeared to look like he had the roughest of sex after lifting his head from the pillow, even if it was after a short nap. He drifted in and out, but eventually decided to slip out of the bed. Pete shift once again, this time toward Patrick, his hand searching for him, but found nothing.

 

The smell of coffee woke Pete, who shot up quickly out of the bed. At the end of it, there was Patrick sitting carefully with two cups in his hand. Pete loved coffee extremely bitter, and Patrick liked it just sweet enough.

 

 

"Dude, fuck yeah," Pete sleepy said, taking the cup from him.

 

 

"I just thought you would want some, even if you didn’t, I would drink yours," Patrick laughed quietly.

 

 

The two boys went into the living room, where they sat watching the news for a moment, but then turned it on to a documentary about Charles Manson. After twenty minutes into the program, Patrick felt his best friend’s head into his side. He sat stiff, not wanting to move, scared Pete would leave. Soon a pattern of slow deep breaths hit against his black polo, Pete was never able to watch even the most interesting of movies for its entirety. He let his hand trail the curve of Pete’s body, the solid feeling of his fingers again the rib cage excited Patrick, not sexually, but it made him feel as if no one else had the permission to do so. Pete moved up, pulling Patrick down more, with his head resting on the singer’s shoulder.

 

 

This is not happening, thought Patrick, I will never have this chance again. No, no he couldn’t, even though he wanted just to try it once. Pete’s lips were slightly parted, and his head rested still. Patrick stared at his lips, imagining what they tasted like, how soft they could be. His head bent down, he analyzed the angle, determining which was the quickest and least destructive way to do it without Pete realizing it. Patrick’s hand shook as he steadied Pete’s head, his nose lightly touching his, then met their slowly met their lips. Pete began to stir, but Patrick began to shake him, covering the fact that a second ago there was no space in between their faces.

 

 

"Man, you need to take a shower," Patrick advised, causing Peter to his feet. He nodded, rubbing his eyes, smelling his shirt, turning away and continuing to the shower. Patrick’s body was still in shock, he had just kissed his best friend. He could never tell him, never. His mind started to wrap around the idea that it had finally happened, when the Blackberry on the table lit up. Patrick grabbed the phone, accidentally opening the text. His heart stopped, it was from Ashlee. He scrolled to the original message sent, correction, messages.

 

 

"ashlee, we can make it work."

 

 

"i’m sorry. i can change."

 

 

"anything. you know, i will do anything. i love you."

 

 

Finally, she responded.

 

 

"No, Pete. Stop, we both know it’s over. It can’t work," was all the screen said.

 

 

Patrick felt his face turn red, his thoughts fueled by jealousy. Ashlee didn’t want him, and Patrick knew it. After all he did for Pete, it was everything for him not to even text her. Patrick simmered at the thought of the events that happened. It was useless, trying to take care of Pete, he wasn’t going to be happy, or try for that matter, because all he cared about was her. The phone made a loud sound against the coffee table, and Patrick quickly stood up, walked into the kitchen, opening the fridge, searching for the bottle of white wine. He took a gulp straight from the bottle, quickly regretting it, as it burned a little. There was a sound of footsteps behind him, and Pete began to mutter about how he hoped He-Man was going to come on the television. The blonde walked past, and he changed the channels quickly, seeing if the show was playing.

 

 

"What’s wrong," Pete asked, shaking his wet hair, “come on, it’s easier to get this over now than later."

 

 

Patrick hated when Pete knew he was upset, his face couldn’t hide any expression from him. This was how it always went, Pete pulling everything that was wrong with him out because if not, Patrick would keep everything inside his head.

 

“Nothing,” Patrick spat back, “nothing at all.”

 

“Just fucking tell me,” Pete said with an edge of irritation in his voice.

 

“No!” Patrick yelled as he saw Pete pick up his phone, “Well, that didn’t take too long, a few minutes out of the shower and you are already fucking attached to that thing again.”

 

“What? I’m fucking checking my phone,” Pete yelled, “get the fuck over it!”

 

“Well, maybe if you would have an interest in someone that has an interest in you, maybe you wouldn’t be so fucking miserable. I mean, you would be, but you would be less miserable,” Patrick rambled.

 

“Ashlee doesn’t want me, I will do anything.”

 

“That’s your problem! You will do anything for anyone that doesn’t want you, but when there is someone in front of you that has been fucking in love with you their entire friendship, you totally can’t see it. That’s awesome, Pete, just fucking incredible. I can’t watch you being miserable anymore like this.”

 

Pete stood there looking at his best friend. Patrick’s face was a deep scarlet, and his eyes looking at the ground. Patrick stomped off into his bedroom, he needed to get away from him right now, he was too upset with himself. He grabbed his keys, the cool metal sent a shiver down his spine, and he made a realization. He had just told his best friend he loved him. He took a deep breath, trying to make the room not spin. He sat on the bed, his head in hands. Then, he felt a hand on his back. Their eyes met, and Patrick had goosebumps run up and down his body.

 

“I’m sorry, I made everything awkward. Just forget I said anything. I’m going to go and you can have the house for a little while and I —”

 

Pete cut him off, with his lips crashing into Patrick’s, their hands wrapped around each other’s heads. Pete clung onto him, as if he was drowning and Patrick was the only way he was going to reach dry land. 

 

“You aren’t going anywhere,” Pete whispered in his ear. “I don’t want to forget what you told me. I want you to tell me everyday. Just know, you will hear it back.”


End file.
